


The Lionheart

by inmyrosegarden



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:56:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inmyrosegarden/pseuds/inmyrosegarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry meets his celebrity crush at a diner and he kisses him, thinking that, well. It’s supposed to be his “fuck all” day anyway; he might as well take some (stupid) chances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lionheart

**Author's Note:**

> It's late and I'm tired and I felt like writing, so. This happened?
> 
> tumblr: sexualstyless

It’s been ages since Harry’s been out for the night.

He’s literally been having the most boring week of his entire life. Well apart from that one time that he was stuck in bed for a week with a bad case of the flu--but that was a different story.

Every day this week, Harry has gotten up at 6.30 am, used the bathroom, grabbed his book bag, gone to the coffee shop down the street, headed over to uni, done homework in between classes, come back home, gone to work, slept at work (because the library he works at is hooligan-free in the middle of the night), come back home once again, slept for four hours, and repeat. For six days straight. He thinks he may be going _a bit_ crazy.

But now, it’s Sunday and thank _fuck_ he doesn’t have classes on Sundays.

So he sleeps in soundly, and once he wakes up well into the afternoon, he has some eggs and toast while lounging on the sofa and watching TV.

At around three, his phone starts ringing. Rolling his eyes, and sighing deeply, Harry picks up, un-amused because this interruption was _completely_ ruining the point of the “fuck all” day he was supposed to be having.

“Mmmf,” he grumbles into the phone, yanking the blanket that was draped over the back of the sofa and cocooning himself in it.

“Harry?” asks Liam, sounding, to be frank, exasperated.

“What’d’y want?” Harry mumbles, voice cracking due to the lack of use.

“We’re waiting for you!” Liam cries seeming to be even more exasperated he was than a minute ago (even though Harry doesn’t quite think that’s possible).

“Why?”

“Fucks sake, Harry!” Liam’s yelling now. (Harry thinks Liam’s having an anxiety attack or something.)

“I can’t bloody well know what you’re talking about if you don’t _tell_ me!”

“You were supposed to come down to the diner this afternoon,” Liam sighs. Harry can picture Liam sitting on a stool at the diner with his eyes closed, massaging his temples.

Harry’s mind trails back to the diner. It’s a small, quaint little thing in the middle of downtown Manchester. Liam and his other friends, Zayn and Niall, work there throughout the week. It’s usually where Harry hangs out after classes, but the past week, he was so busy that he was unable to make it there at all.

Harry enjoys the quiet diner because it’s a step away from reality. He can go in there and forget his troubles, just sink back into the indie music that Zayn plays and _relax._

And on Sundays—the Sundays when it’s raining to be more exact—he and his friends organize a karaoke and little dance type thing. A lot of the students from their uni—the ones who Harry can actually _stand_ —also end up coming. So the dreary wet Sundays turn out to be quite fun after all.

Harry stops breathing. He remembers its _Sunday_ , and looking outside he sees that it’s—

 _raining_.

“Fuck oh my god, Liam, mate, I’m so sorry!” Harry frantically squeals, trying to get out of the blanket he’s cocooned himself in. He falls to the floor with a _thump_ instead. “My week has been so rough and it _completely_ slipped my mind and—“

“Harry!” Liam exclaims, taking a deep breath. “It’s fine. Whatever. Are you gonna come tonight or should we just not expect you then?”

“No, no! I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Harry croaks out, rubbing a hand rigorously over his face.

“Alright mate. Don’t worry about it,” Liam says, closing the phone. Harry squints his eyes, sure he can feel Liam’s sly smile through the phone. It’s quite obvious Liam only wants him there because Harry always ends up helping waitressing or cooking or doing the dishes.

Harry sighs, walking to his bedroom and throwing on some tight, black jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. He _knows_ that that’s not reallywhy Liam wants him to be there. Liam’s too nice to have ulterior motives that evil. No wait. He’s too nice to have ulterior motives _at all._

After grabbing his coat, cell phone, wallet and keys, Harry steps out of his flat, locking the door behind him. He’s walking in the direction of the diner in no time, not paying any attention to his surroundings. Harry’s walked the same path at least a thousand times in the four years that he’s lived in Manchester. He thinks he could do it backwards while walking on his hands in his sleep. Surprisingly, this is the one routine he actually enjoys. He figures it’s because it’s the only one with an enjoyable outcome.

The rain is lightly falling and Harry occasionally feels tiny droplets of water and on his head. They’re cool in the January air and even though he’s toasty warm inside his coat, he shivers each time he feels the water, instantly regretting not wearing a beanie.

But soon enough, Harry’s put out of his misery when he spots the diner’s lights shining brightly up ahead.

It’s called _The Lionheart_ and it has a big, overly dramatic blinking sign on a long post next to it. It’s so old Hollywood that it makes Harry smile each time he sees it, what with its red lettering and yellow lights around the border.

 Harry keeps a small smile plastered on his face as he walks in through the doors of the diner, signaling the front door chime. He sighs in content when he gets a whiff of French fries and immediately, his eyes search for one of his three friends.

He peers through the dimly lit diner while he takes off his coat. After finally spotting Niall, who’s sitting in a booth near the far back, talking to someone who Harry can’t quite recognize in the distance, he puts his coat on the coat hook near the door, finally walking in the direction of the booth.

“Harry!” Niall exclaims once he spots his curly-haired friend. He’s grinning from ear to ear and Harry can’t help but genuinely smile back because it’s _Niall._

“Hey mate,” Harry breathes, coming to a stop in front of the table Niall’s sitting at.

He’s still smiling when he looks to his left. But when he sees who’s sitting in front of Niall his breath catches and he feels his eyes bulge out of his sockets. He thinks his mouth is hanging open, his jaw almost touching the ground.

Niall chuckles. “Harry, this is Louis Tomlinson. Sean introduced us last week.”

And Niall’s speaking so _causally_ and it irks Harry because this is _Louis Tomlinson,_ pop star extraordinaire. He’s been Harry’s celebrity crush for _ages_ and Niall Horan, one of Harry’s best mates, _surely_ fucking knows that.

So how the fuck has it been a damn _week_ since they met!? Why is Harry only hearing about this now!?

More importantly, _why is Harry still standing in front of Louis freaking Tomlinson with his eyes comically wide and his mouth agape!?_

“Fuck, oh my god, no, idiot, Niall, you’re—I—“ Harry stops, running a hand through his curls. He points an accusatory finger at Niall, glaring. “We’ll talk later, you shit.”

Then he turns to Louis. “Hi. I’m Harry. Wow, it’s great to meet you, I—“

Louis giggles. He actually _giggles_. “Hi Harry. I know _all_ about you and your little crush—“ he wiggles his eyebrows and Harry actually feels like the world is ending.

Cheeks aflame, Harry turns to Niall to speak with gritted teeth. “You. Actually. Fucking. Told. Him. You. Utter. Twat.” He seethes.

“What?” Niall raises a single eyebrow, feigning innocence. “I didn’t catch that.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak but Louis’ laugh stops him. He turns his head back to Louis who’s looking up at him through long, thick eyelashes.

The room is quite dim but Harry can see Louis’ sapphire blue eyes clearly, shining with mirth. It’s then that Harry takes a step back to actually _look_ at Louis, whose pictures have filled his wank bank for years.

His caramel colored hair is quiffed up. Even though Harry’s used to seeing quiffs—hell, Niall, Zayn, and even _Liam_ have been through that phase—there’s something that’s…intricate about Louis’ quiff. Or maybe that’s Harry’s infatuation talking.

Louis is wearing a tight, mint colored button-up shirt that clings to his torso perfectly. Harry can barely keep his mouth from watering at the sight.

“I can assure you,” he says after clearing his throat loudly. He hopes to god that his blush isn’t so fierce any more. “Nothing he’s said about me is true.”

“Really?” Louis sighs. “Well that’s too bad,” he says disappointedly, in a sarcastic manner.

“Erm,” Harry deadpans, confused. He furrows his eyebrows and looks between Louis and Niall.

“Niall and Zayn and Liam have spent quite an awful lot of time trying to--” Louis racks his brain for the right word. “I don’t even know what they’ve been doing, to be honest. I guess they’ve been trying to get me to kind of fall in love with you?”

Harry blinks. “Did I hear that correctly?”

“Mmm, you most certainly did,” Louis chuckles.

“What the _fuck,_ Niall,” Harry wheezes. He then turns to Louis. “Look I promise, mate, I’m not a creepy obsessed fan or anything, I just _enjoy_ your music and okay, maybe how you look too but—“

“Hey,” Louis says quietly, reaching out to grab Harry’s arm.

(Harry feels a spark at the touch. He momentarily wonders if Louis feels it too.)

“I don’t think you’re a creep, actually.” Louis says quietly. He smiles up at Harry.

Niall slides out of the booth muttering a, “catchya later,” under his breath. Neither Harry nor Louis truly notices.

“They honestly didn’t even tell me you were a fan until today,” Louis chuckles. “Probably only told me so they could prepare me for when you almost collapsed after seeing me here just now.”

Harry can’t bring himself to laugh. Is _this really happening to him?_

At that point, more people have started streaming into the diner. Someone cranks up the music and people start shuffling around on the dance floor with their friends and partners.

Louis motions for Harry to sit in Niall’s empty spot, and Harry obliges without hesitating. “They told me about you, and you honestly just seemed so _nice_ and I haven’t met a genuine person in ages, and _._ They said you were busy last week so like, that’s the only reason why I didn’t try to meet you earlier.” Louis looks sheepish.

“I’m—sorry,” Harry chuckles. He then realizes that if he keeps filtering his thoughts, he’s not going to get one coherent sentence out to Louis, and since this might only be his only chance to talk to Louis, he takes the chance, for what it’s worth. “You’re beautiful,” Harry breathes.

He knows his eyes are filled to the brim with adoration and he knows that he looks like a complete fool.

But when Louis blushes and looks down at the table, tracing circles in the smooth wood with his index finger, Harry grins. He thinks he feels his confidence boost.

“I’d really, erm.” He begins. Taking a deep breath, Harry tries again. “I’d really love it if you danced with me.”

Louis’ eyebrows rise. He looks like that wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’d--I’d--sure,” he says.

Harry stands up and holds a hand out for Louis, who clutches it with his own and doesn’t let go. _This must be a good sign,_ Harry thinks.

Once they reach the dance floor, the two boys realize that the song playing is quite sensual, in a way. Going out on a limb, Harry puts his hands on Louis’ waist and reels the shorter boy in. Louis smirks and puts his arms around Harry’s neck.

Soon they’re dancing—well not quite, because turning in circles breathlessly (and not from physical activity either) doesn’t _quite_ count as dancing—and their foreheads are touching gently.

And Harry heart beats so _strongly_ and so _surely_ and he feels like he might be in love.

Louis’ so beautiful and so pure and Harry thinks it feels so _right_ to have him standing there in front him. Harry thinks his hands were meant to engulf Louis’ waist.

(And Louis is thinking the same thing, he’s thinking that he’s so _glad_ that he took a chance and asked Niall to introduce him to his seemingly wonderful friend who just so happens to be _hot._ And he knows so much about this curly-haired fool who is undressing Louis with his eyes and Louis should feel uncomfortable but he feels so good because he _knows_ Harry’s a good person; his three crazy mates have made that much clear.)

“I’ve been taking chances all day today,” Harry murmurs and the only reason that Louis can hear them over the music is because they’re so close together. “So I’m going to ask you. Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, looking down at Harry’s pouty lips. In the next ten seconds, their lips are touching and the kiss is so gentle and sweet yet so overwhelming and Harry just thinks, _what is going on today?_

But being overwhelmed is a good thing. Being overwhelmed in Louis, Harry thinks, is an even better thing.

(And Louis is kind of thinking the same thing about Harry.)

**Author's Note:**

> Omg thanks for reading! Sorry for the excessive italics, as always :))


End file.
